


Shotgun Beats Crowbar

by visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Category: Supernatural, Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Gen, Piz might be discovering things about himself in college, crackfic, like how handsome Dean is, mostly Gen but, old fic I barely remember writing, really it's made of silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Investigations collide, and warp poor Piz's worldview even further.
Kudos: 3





	Shotgun Beats Crowbar

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal in 2006. (Very old and outdated!)
> 
> Spoilers for the original run Veronica Mars episodes, including "Spit and Eggs", none for the return. No real spoilers for Supernatural, I don't think. (Takes place in a vague early SPN, where they also hunt ghosts apparently, before things got very complicated.)
> 
> Written for a prompt from fangirl1981. Very cracktastic and silly, not to be taken seriously.

***

Looking for someone or something suspicious. All right. In a dark abandoned Frat house one could probably find those things fairly easily, Piz thought as he entered the rundown building through the back. Just like Veronica had instructed him to. He couldn't decide whether it was frightening or endearing how much she knew about breaking and entering. She'd even given him a crowbar for the boarded up window and a flashlight. Which, according to her, was also good for emergency bludgeoning. She'd said that right after assuring him it wasn't a dangerous task. Veronica had a strange way of reassuring people. (College was proving strange, all around, really.) 

Turns out, the boards had already been pried off the back door, which he made note of. Maybe he should've brought a little notebook or voice recorder to remember these things, like this was a very strange class he should take notes for. 

The DJ in his brain was playing the cheesiest spooky Halloween soundtrack ever as he entered the large building, and that really wasn't helping. Wow. You thought college boys had cleanliness issues, that was nothing compared to how scary their kitchen looked once it stood empty for a few years. Good thing that, as a fellow college man, Piz had a natural resistance to bacteria and dirt. The smell of dust and moldy decay was pushing it, even for him.

There were probably better ways to spend your nights. Like working on aneurysm-causing essays.

_No, no, Veronica. I'll do it! I'll do the grunt-work of scoping the scene of the crime while you do other mysterious detective things! After the whole Mercer trauma, it's the least he could do!_ Just a quick check, since his path around campus after he subbed at the radio station took him through that area, anyway. He was pulling a lot of nights at KRFF lately. As it turned out, it was harder to fill a college radio slot than you'd think, when it happened to be vacated by a rapist. (Piz blamed techno's bad rep. Mercer, its main proponent, turning out to be pure evil scum certainly hadn't helped it out much.)

The attacks and scares in the 'haunted' old frat were probably just dumb pranks by clueless idiots who got their jollies adding to the on-campus trauma, but it paid to be thorough, Veronica had told him. Especially when you were actually, you know, being paid. Well, Veronica was. Piece of cake. Easy money, she'd said. After everything that had happened recently, the Hearst boosters wanted to try to avoid even more bad publicity. Although it would take a lot more than 'mildly scary campus ghost' to knock 'Murdered Dean!' off the headlines. Piz had eagerly volunteered for that smile. Well, not smile really. Veronica didn't do a whole lot of what would traditionally be called 'smiling' when she was talking about a case. That steely, businesslike gaze, then. He found it cute. He blamed her adorable little nose. 

He'd apparently forgotten that he wasn't going to college to become a hardened gumshoe. He just wanted the girl. Wanted to help solve the cake case, so he'd maybe see a smile again. Eventually. It was really more of gleefully evil smirk at the criminal's expense, at the end of a case. But it was still cute.

It didn't take long before he, accompanied by his hefty flashlight, found company. But not of the 'BOO!' variety. Piz's flashlight beam met a mate in the upstairs hall, adding to the piercing of the gloom enough to make out his fellow intruders pretty well.

Suspicious persons? Check. Two checks even, and possibly some little gold stars. If those little gold stars had 'Danger! Danger! Criminal element! Possible suspects!!' printed across them. On second thought, they'd have to be pretty big gold stars to fit all that. Piz defaulted to sarcastic humor when uncomfortable, even in his own head. Might want to get that checked. College did offer free counseling. Especially this one, after all the deaths and rapes. (Piz missed Beaverton.)

First, they had been what could best be described as skulking stealthily, until Piz had skulked less stealthily (more of a purposeful meander through the house, really) onto the second floor and found them coming down the hall. Now they just looked irritated. Then there was the sawed-off shotgun. More than that, the worn leather jacket. Every Buffy fan knew leather just plain meant evil was afoot. Granted, it was usually leather pants, but he felt the shotgun the other one was carrying helped tip it over into the evil column.

He'd stumbled upon (almost literally, really, those stairs were in serious disrepair) two men. One looked like a typical college student, wearing the typical layers of jacket/t-shirts/flannel college guy attire, if it hadn't been for the shotgun slung casually over his shoulder. (Even on a campus as dangerous as Hearst was turning out to be, guns had not yet become the new "It" accessory. Although, maybe they should.) 

Piz made a quick mental decision to call him 'tall guy', rather than 'Scary Shotgun Guy'. It helped keep him from throwing his crowbar at them and running back downstairs. Plus, tall guy with the shaggy darker hair was HUGE. Being around Veronica so much made Piz feel incredibly tall in comparison, and Wallace being one of the shortest basketball players ever helped. Now he suddenly felt like a member of the lollipop guild. (Okay, no more trying pot and checking out urban legends about the synchronicity of classic movies and rock albums. He blamed the guys at the station.) The other one was shorter, but still intimidating, due to his typical Tough Guy wardrobe, and that serious grimacing face he was making. 

"Is that a shotgun, or are you just happy to see me?" Apparently, fear forced Piz to break out the hoariest old cheesy cliché he could think of, refurnished with a dry mocking tone as he pointed to the weapon in question. Mocking the guys with the frightening weaponry probably wasn't his best move. Even with his trusty crowbar in one hand and flashlight in the other. Which…probably made him look slightly threatening and criminal, too, now that he thought about it.

He forced himself to follow it up with his goofy grin, still dry, but innocent. _I'm a harmless freshmen! I'm from Ohio! I am not here looking for you! No need to shoot me!_

"Shotgun." In a flash, the shorter one's deadpan answer reminded him of Veronica for some reason.

Maybe because his death was possibly imminent, and his brain was trying to find comfort in pleasant things. But he found that the similarity put him that much more at ease. Of course, that could've also been helped along by the sheepish and apologetic look on the tall one's face, as he shifted, trying to hold the giant sawed-off in the least threatening manner possible. He gave up and set it in the shadows against the wall, choosing to go with the upheld hands of innocence and forfeit. Perhaps this was due to the look on Piz's face that must've been caused by him mentally calculating whether he actually _could_ throw the crowbar at them and dial his cell phone as he ran away. 

This helped make them less scary, and they weren't behaving in a threatening way. They looked like they were poking around, just like he was. Maybe whoever had sent them had equipped them with better than a crowbar and a flashlight. Or…he had just stumbled upon the 'ghosts'.

"It wasn't loaded. Only rock salt."

"Rock salt?" He felt clueless and lost a lot more often than he'd used to. College was great. 

"It's a hazing thing. He's pledging." The shorter one turned all smooth, with a casual head-cock and a humorous glint in his eye. _Wink wink. Trust me. I'm pretty!_

Veronica could probably do that too, if she wanted to. And while it _seemed_ less trustworthy when he said that way, sending pledges into a haunted house sounded like frat behavior. More benevolent than most, actually.

"So, you know, you should go. Pledging can get messy. You don't want to see this." The tall one added helpfully.

Yeah. Trying to get him to leave? That wasn't suspicious at all. They didn't seem like the guys behind the hauntings, because they weren't hiding very well, mostly. Plus, no props. No one had mentioned getting menaced by a shotgun, just spooky noises, scratches, and blinking lights. But if it turned out that he listened to the suspects when they told him to leave, Veronica would never forgive him.

"Hey, its all part of the college experience. I'm good." The accompanying gestures really helped sell 'I'm good right here' sentiment, he thought. 

"Always got to be some dumb kid checking out the haunted house." The short one with an actual haircut muttered under his breath to the other one with a weary sigh, pretending to try to be quiet, without actually doing so. 

If Piz didn't know better, he'd think someone wasn't really trying his hardest not to be overheard. And wow, look who was an asshole!

"Um, yeah. Except I'm actually looking for the 'dumb kids' behind the haunting pranks. Nice to meet ya!" Piz stayed laid-back and sunny, with a mild accusation underlying his tone. It almost seemed like a good time for ironic finger-guns. If not for the presence of actual guns. And he probably shouldn't have told them they were on his suspect list, but again: criminology? Not his major.

Suspiciously criminal appearance aside, Piz didn't think he'd found the real culprits. (Knowing Veronica had made his inner-monologue sometimes remind him of Scooby Doo.) They really did seem to be investigating too. They had a flashlight and everything. Theirs was smaller, but somehow better, and held more confidently by the cocky one. He could only imagine Veronica's righteous anger if her clients had hired competition.

It was either that, or the pledge thing, or they were the prank perpetrators, or…he'd found himself in the middle of a secret gay liaison. (Hey, there was more than one kind of 'spooky' moaning.) The last one didn't make much sense, though, if only because this was college, land of experimentation, not pop-stardom. That sort of thing wasn't exactly kept on the down low like that here. That's what tiny cramped dorm rooms were for. Or, well, the illusion of fraternities and 'brotherhood' if you were really into self-denial.

"Because, you know...the ghosts probably aren't real. I mean, just a guess." There he went, mocking the gun-wielding frat boys again. Veronica really was a bad influence. The kind his mother warned him about when he'd packed up his car to head to California.

"Of course not." They both said it sort of at the same time. That, combined with those sharp smiles that had appeared at his words, was kind of scary. More so than the shotgun, even.

But the inside joke melted away as quickly as it had come. "You'll have to excuse my brother..." In the space left by the tall one's trailing words, said brother shot him an annoyed look of someone who got 'excused' a lot. Understandably so. Piz was getting used to superior and standoffish, though. He sort of had a crippling crush on the poster girl for such behavior. "We’re looking into the pranks too." 

What did you know? Tall guy could do _Trust me! I'm pretty!_ too, just more self-deprecating and earnestly. With much less oddly hot (and maybe college really was a time of blossoming interests if that thought popped up in Piz's brain) smarm than his brother, who eventually picked up the charming and innocent line. Still sort of cocky and smarmy when he did it, though. 

"Yeah. I'm Malcolm Young, and this is Angus." Malcolm, the short one, jerked a thumb towards the tall guy. "What have you heard about the haunting?"

Piz blinked. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who needed a refresher course in undercover. Maybe Veronica could make even more money offering some sort of remedial class on campus. "Umm. Those are members of AC/DC." He let his face show his disbelief for a second, before sliding back into the cheerfully quirky sarcasm that served him well. "You know, you look different in person."

Angus punched Malcolm in the arm with an eye roll, and got a 'What?' glance in return. "It's part of the pledge thing. Can't use our real names."

They weren't great at sticking to a story. Veronica would have reduced these guys to whimpering shreds after interrogation. Piz...well, he would just have to keep them talking, and take mental notes to report back to her. It would have been highly amusing to watch them try their charm on her, though. He'd bring popcorn to see that.

"Your frat rushing involves investigating pranks while pretending to be guitar legends?"

"Something like that." Malcolm said dismissively, attention on the other device in his hands that was not a flashlight.

It caught Piz's attention pretty fast as well. Well, he was supposed to be investigating. "What happened to your walkman? It's evolved." 

And the geek in him made his face light up genuinely with the question. Something about an old relic like a walkman being turned into something new. It was sort of…awesome. Whatever it was made to do, it seemed to be doing it well. An efficiently small tangle of wires and new imaginative purpose. 

Malcolm's grin suddenly got more genuine, as well. Wide and bright and proud, like he was swaggering in place. It made Piz return the grin without thought. "Hell, yes. Made it myself." 

Piz caught the look he threw Angus, triumph and with a healthy helping of 'SO THERE!' that confirmed that they were brothers, at least.

"Why is it blinking?" Piz's voice was all interest, as he leaned in closer to see, arcing his flashlight beam towards it. Bonding with the suspicious (roughly charming) asshole through obsession with electronics, because he sort of couldn't help it. _What does it do? Can I poke it?_ He felt a lot like he had when he'd walked into his first radio station and seen the board. Turns out, gadgetry could mesmerize him away from the fear of guns.

Malcolm shot Angus a mildly concerned look at that, something that had to do with the blinking on the Franken-Walkman, before returning his gaze to Piz. It looked like he really wanted to explain the blinking and brag about what his shiny toy did, but he was holding back. It reminded Piz a little of when he'd too suspiciously giddily asked Veronica if he could see her taser, but much more bursting with pride and the desire to geek out with him.

Piz watched a second of internal debate, followed by silent conference between the brothers composed of significant looks, before a resigned shoulder shrug signaled a decision. It was like watching Veronica and Wallace from the outside all over again. 

"It measures EMF." He was almost caressing it as he fiddled with it, but he still looked concerned. But not with what Piz thought.

"EMF? Because of the…ghosts. " He'd watched horror movies like everyone else, and he couldn't stop the amused quirk of his eyebrow as he pushed his hair out of his face, inching a little bit closer to see even better. Because, improbable purpose or not, it still looked cool. 

"Pretty much." Being mocked just made Malcolm sound more capable and confident, like he knew something Piz didn't. 

They really were ghost hunters then, not prank investigators. Ooookay. Not criminals. Just crazy, and really geeky. Like more than D&D geeky. (And handsome.) And probably not really joining a frat. That made a much cooler cover, to some. Piz preferred ghost hunters to frat boys, though.

Or maybe they were going with the 'if we appear crazy enough, we can get him to leave us alone' approach. He could just imagine Veronica's scornful glower if he let 'crazy' scare him off. Although, he could always go with 'shotgun!' as an excuse.

He was interrupted by the Franken-Walkman suddenly going crazy. The frantic blinking was matched only by the wild swing of the meter. 

"Well. That doesn't seem good." And he really was joking, because it wasn't measuring anything real of course. The goose bumps raised over every inch of his exposed skin by the sudden artic chill begged to differ. As did the crackling of light and smell of burning wire. 

Piz flinched as the every light fixture within sight exploded in a frightening flash of light and violence. Funny how the human body could go from calmly mocking to intense instinctual fear so quickly. 

Somehow, he didn't think Franken-Walkman was supposed to do _that_. It probably _wasn't_ doing that. The blinding light didn't go away, it just pooled and focused in a spot further down the hall. Suddenly, Piz was incredibly glad the ghost hunters with the shotgun were between him and it. It was amorphous and bright. Ever-moving and shifting within itself. It was…loud…but it wasn't really forming words. It was like anger and pain had taken shape. Right there. A few feet away from him. He felt it, crushing everything in the area with its supernatural weight.

Piz would have denied the possibility of ever believing in ghosts, horror movie scares aside. But the smell of burning atmosphere, the sudden uncontrollable fear-fueled adrenaline rushing through him so fast it was gluing him to the floor, and the two other faces that looked like they'd seen this before changed everything. 

Suddenly, the unreal was right here. Like being in a nightmare and believing it because you felt it under your skin, in that primal part of your mind that said 'Fire bad!'.

"Is that--" Remember to breath. He fought the urge to pinch himself. He didn't have the free hand. "Is that a ghost?" The inquiry came out much calmer than he would have expected. If this was a prank, the perpetrators had a very promising career at Industrial Light & Magic when they graduated.

But his voice still didn't carry the deadpan acceptance and businesslike tone that Malcolm answered with. The answer also held the pleasure of confirmation. "Yep, sure is." The instrument disappeared into that battered leather coat, like it wasn't needed anymore.

Suddenly, Piz had his very own human shield, Malcolm stepping assuredly in front of him, arm reaching back to either hold him back or silently reassure him or both. It sort of worked on all counts. 

"Sam." It was a signal. Ahhh. Sam, not so much Angus. He'd known it. The lack of schoolgirl skirt had been a clue.

His human shield was warm and solid and smelled like leather. And thankfully, was standing stolidly in between him and the danger in a way that indicated he wasn't moving. Piz was not foolishly manly enough to rebuke the protection.

That shotgun came up like clockwork, raised in Sam's hand like it was just an extension of those long arms, quickly grasped from its resting position against the wall. Piz hadn’t noticed how he'd kept it easily within reach, until now. Boy was he grateful, though.

The blast from the shotgun was far more comforting than he ever thought something like that could be. It went right through the wailing cloud of pain and electricity, but the form shattered into mist and dissolved as it passed through.

"Is it dead?" Did he just ask if the _ghost_ was dead? The room was still cold, and he may have swallowed his heart. He wondered if he could get his lead feet to move now. _Runrunrun_ , the pound of his blood beckoned.

Malcolm let an acknowledgment of the stupidity of that comment show in his gaze for a quick moment, before he mercifully moved on and answered Piz's real question. "Nope. Just momentarily distracted."

"So, we should go." Sam's urgent, but oddly good-humored, words were accompanied by that giant arm-span helpfully ushering them towards the stairs.

"Excellent plan. Follow my lead. Please try not to choke on my cartoon-like trail of smoke." His words were followed by the closest he had ever come to a mad dash. 

He checked to make sure they were dashing along with him, though. They were. Freakishly long legs carried certain people ahead, but he tried not to let that bother him too much. It was more annoying that on Sam and Malcolm, it looked less like 'fleeing' and more like tough and capable 'relocation'.

He practically flew down the rickety stairs, feeling the banister slam into his hip as he took a sharp turn at the end. He kept right on running. Long legs kicked the front door right open, allowing quick egress, which he also appreciated.

He followed the guy with the gun, the brother staying close to his side, all the way to a car parked down the street. Piz didn't look back. Couldn't. Didn't seem like the wisest choice. But he felt Malcolm doing so, and that was also oddly reassuring. 

The brothers stopped at the car, like it was home base and it made them safe, shooting glances back down the street towards the frat house. Shiny black classic car. That...was all Piz knew really. Cars weren't his thing.

It took him longer to catch his breath than it did them. Of course, they seemed unnervingly used to such things. They didn't talk, just reloaded, watching him. Half-amused.

"So...ghosts are real." Wasn't much to say at the moment, but he had to say something. Talk, to make the world seem real again. 

He wondered if these two would come with him to verify his story when he told Veronica. She might seem less cute when she was checking him into a Psych Ward. Probably not, though.

"Didn't want to break it to you. You seemed so pleased with yourself." Sam said, with his own head tilt matched to the metal click of his shotgun.

Malcolm turned to him, eyes seeking out Piz's, like he was trying to ground him. Focus on the deep green eyes, and let yourself be reassured by the tough guy demeanor. Sounded like another good plan. "We're gonna need the lowdown on any deaths in the area." 

Was there something about him that screamed 'Draft me as your lackey minion!' ? 

Piz couldn't bring himself to care too much at the moment. At least Sam and Malcolm smiled sometimes on the job. 

Piz may be new, but he'd already learned plenty about Neptune's sordid past due to Veronica. "Ahh. This could take awhile. We should sit down, and possibly gather enough food to settle in for the winter." He paused, staring at 'Malcolm'. "But first, what's your real name? I'm Piz." He held out his hand, because when life became surreal, it was the little sane things that helped you cope.

***  
End  
**


End file.
